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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120587">Things To Do In Denver When You're Dead</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis'>Isis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Abigail Pent, Gen, Harrow the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Mentioned Dulcinea Septimus, Mentioned Isaac Tettares, Mentioned Jeannemary Chatur, Mentioned Marta Dyas, Mentioned Ortus Nigenad, Mentioned Protesilaus Ebdoma, Mentioned Silas Octakiseron, Missing Scene, POV First Person, POV Magnus Quinn, Slice of Life, for some value of contemporary anyway, if Muir can fill her books with contemporary memes I can use a title from a contemporary song, or actually Slice of DEATH</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:55:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,519</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120587</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail, being Abigail, was positively <em>delighted</em> to be dead.</p><p>(or: the revenants are pulled from the River, and are mostly confused.  Except for Abigail Pent, who never met a problem she didn't want to solve.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Pent/Magnus Quinn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Things To Do In Denver When You're Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurknomoar/gifts">lurknomoar</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set in the interstices of <i>Harrow the Ninth</i>. One line of dialogue was lifted from the text.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Most people, upon their deaths, are not pleased by their new circumstances.  Well, I suppose most people don’t notice their new circumstances, unless they’re necromancers, or associate with necromancers, or are married to necromancers...you get the idea.  And in fact despite being married to a necromancer, I didn’t immediately twig to the fact that I was dead, being as how I was – well, <em>dead</em>. But Abigail, being Abigail, wasn’t about to give me the opportunity to rest in peace, shall we say.  </p><p>Abigail, being Abigail, was positively <em>delighted</em> to be dead.</p><p>I opened my eyes on the room in Canaan house that held the swimming pool. As I’d just descended through the hatch into the lower levels – or so I thought – I was a bit confused.  </p><p>“Well, <em>this</em> is interesting,” said Abigail from somewhere behind me.  From our years together, I immediately recognized both the phrase and the barely-suppressed excitement in her voice;  it was what she said when she’d been presented with some particularly knotty problem, and was already starting to think of ways to solve it.</p><p>I turned to see her squatting near the wall, frowning at some detail of the molding.  She ran a hand across something I couldn’t see, and I was about to ask her what it was she found <em>interesting</em> when I heard Jeannemary’s distinctive scream. </p><p>Abigail leaped to her feet.  “Oh, dear.  I’d hoped –”</p><p>“You’re dead!” Jeannemary yelled.  I looked in the direction of her voice; she was facing down Isaac on the opposite side of the room.  “I saw you <em>die</em>!  That bone-thing <em>killed</em> you!  And she wouldn’t let me – <em>Isaac</em>!” She let out an inarticulate howl and threw her arms around Isaac, and started sobbing, great big noisy sobs that were barely muffled by his bony shoulder.</p><p>Abigail started toward them, around the edge of the dark waters of the pool, and I followed. I found I did not want to look too closely at the water – there was something about it that unsettled me – and so I looked around the room instead.  Dulcinea Septimus and her hulking cavalier conferred in one corner, while Marta the Second gazed thoughtfully at Abigail and me.  “Who’s that?” I murmured, and when Abigail turned I tilted my head toward a shadowed alcove where a large man of about my age but of apparently more lugubrious disposition leaned against the wall, regarding the scene with an expression of mixed confusion and disappointment.  No, not disappointment; it was more that he looked like someone who had been expecting Something and had gotten instead Something Else Much Less Desirable.  In any event, he was not someone I recognized, which was of course very odd.  He didn’t strike me as a priestly type, and we’d met all the heirs and cavaliers. </p><p>“Very interesting,” she pronounced, with a gimlet gleam in her eye.  But she did not break stride, and at her approach both Isaac and Jeannemary looked up at us and gasped.</p><p>“Okay, you’re right,” Isaac said to Jeannemary, gently disengaging himself from her enough to look at us, though I noticed he still held her hand. His eyes were red and his eyelashes wet.  Then to Abigail: “We’re all dead, aren’t we.”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>“Goodness,” I said, feeling a bit faint. </p><p>“You didn’t figure it out?  No, of course you wouldn’t,” said Abigail.</p><p>“He’s not stupid,” said Jeannemary, sniffling, and her loyalty warmed my heart.</p><p>I grinned at her.  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me in years.”  (She rolled her eyes.) </p><p>“No,” agreed Abigail, “he’s not stupid and neither are you, but also neither of you are necromancers.  We’ve got a bit of a leg up with things like this.”</p><p>“You were the first to die,” said Isaac.  His lower lip trembled a bit.</p><p>“No,” said a new voice.  “We were.”  The Knight of Rhodes had wheeled Dulcinea over to where we stood.  Or at least, seeing them together with their heads bent away from me, I had thought they were the cavalier and necromancer of the Seventh, but as I looked at them I realized that they were not entirely familiar.  The man was certainly Protesilaus Ebdoma, but Protesilaus after a good nights’ sleep and a hearty breakfast.  The woman, though, only resembled Dulcinea as much as Abigail resembled her cousin Leah.</p><p>“I had thought you were the Seventh,” I said.</p><p>“We were,” agreed the woman who was not Dulcinea. “But then that bitch killed me and took my place.”  </p><p>“Who?” I said.</p><p>Abigail pursed her lips.  “The Lyctor of your House, it must have been.  I remember seeing you – seeing her – just before I was killed.” At my astonished face she added, “Well, it couldn’t have been any ordinary adept. The Seventh normally doesn’t go for direct action.  Though you’re quite good at preservation, which explains some things.”  She inclined her head toward Protesilaus. </p><p>Dulcinea – the real Dulcinea, I realized – nodded. “I was wondering what she’d done about a cavalier. She killed him straight off.”</p><p>“He made an impressive beguiling corpse.”</p><p>“Hah,” said Marta Dyas, who had come up to our small group as we were talking.  “I knew there was something off about him.”</p><p>“I feel I should resent that,” rumbled Protesilaus amiably.  This version of the Seventh cavalier was considerably more animated than the Protesilaus we’d met in Canaan House, which made sense, considering he’d been dead at the time.  To be fair, he was dead now, but then he’d been dead and beguiling-corpsified, rather than dead and...and what? </p><p>I looked over at the Fourth, who were whispering fiercely in each other’s ears. Jeannemary was gripping Isaac’s wrist so tightly that his skin was white around her fingers.  A part of me wanted to go over and hug them both, though I knew that if I did they would push me away, mortified to be offered comfort.  But still, I wanted to comfort them.  They were the children we’d never been able to have, and their deaths were the most unfair thing of all.</p><p>“So,” I said, with what even I had to admit was forced heartiness.  “If we’re dead, why are we in Canaan House?”</p><p>“We are <em>not</em> in Canaan House,” said Abigail.  “We are in the River – oh, I wish I had my notes with me!  She looked around with a renewed interest, her eyes sparkling behind her spectacles. “Is it a sustained shared delusion? A quirk in the flow somehow?  What do you think, Duchess Septimus?”</p><p>“Call me Dulcie, please,” murmured that lady. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again.  “Whatever it is that’s causing this – this eddy in the River, so to speak – it feels remarkably stable.  The thanergy flow is steady and consistent.  What do <em>you</em> think, Master Templar?” she added, raising her voice slightly and looking over my shoulder.</p><p>I looked, too: the adept of the Eighth and his cavalier stood at the far end of the room.  His colorless eyes slid over mine briefly.  “We have nothing to say to you,” he said before turning away.</p><p>When I returned my attention to the women, Dyas caught my eye and gave an expressive shrug.  <em>Necromancers.</em> I sympathized completely. I was perfectly happy to leave matters of death to my wife, who was far more talented in that direction.  Considering that the only thing I was really talented at was untangling the administrative minutiae of the bureaucracy that governed Koniortos Court, this was generally best for all concerned.</p><p>“But what’s the source?” Abigail was saying.</p><p>“I’m not certain,” said Dulcinea.  “But there’s something – you,” she said, lifting her head and looking past us.  I turned to see the unfamiliar man I’d spotted in the shadows walking uncertainly towards us.  “Who are you?”</p><p>He paused before speaking, as though he were trying to decide if he could trust us.  Or maybe he was just trying to remember his name. He drew himself up and squared his shoulders, and his voice, when he spoke, boomed out over the room.</p><p>“ORTUS THE NINTH,” he said, and the world went very bright, and then very dark.</p>
<hr/><p>The man who had told us to call him Teacher said my name, and I went up to receive the keyring he’d been giving all the cavaliers, then returned to Abigail.  “The key to the city,” I intoned in a dramatic whisper, and she grinned and elbowed me in the side.  </p><p>After all of us had received our keys, Teacher sat and told us about Canaan house, about the laboratories in the basement where, he said, the blueprints of Lyctorhood were left for those of us with the courage to follow, or some such. I admit that I was thinking more about that strangely-painted Ninth adept, and the sonorous pronouncements of her lumpy cavalier.  At less than half my age Jeannemary could disarm me without half thinking about it, and Dyas, Tern and Hect were young, fit, and clearly ready to do the same.  The huge Seventh and Eighth cavaliers could probably backhand me to oblivion.  The Ninth, though, moved like a recalcitrant schoolboy, not like a swordsman.  I thought:  <em>I could take</em> him, <em>at least</em> – and a weird shiver swept through me, like a bad memory that I didn’t want to look at too closely.  </p><p>“Then the path to Lyctorhood is independent research?” Abigail piped up beside me.  Isaac sighed audibly in embarrassment and Jeannemary stifled a giggle. “Gosh!  And it isn’t even my birthday.”</p><p>That was my Abigail, I thought fondly.  History her passion, analysis her blood.  </p><p>Teacher went on to warn us about some sleeping monster in the bowels of the facility, and that perked Isaac and Jeannemary right up; the research that my wife thrived on was boring to them, compared to the thrill of possible battle.  Abigail and I exchanged glances. Of course we’d do our best to shield them from this Sleeper, just as we had kept them from running off to the Cohort’s front lines.  </p><p>“God grant you luck to carry out your task,” said one of the priests, and the bone constructs came to show us to our quarters.</p><p>“Something’s wrong,” Abigail said to me quietly as we followed the skeleton to the rooms that had been assigned us.</p><p>“What, you think the Empire’s failing and we need to rescue it through – what did you say?  Independent research?”</p><p>“Magnus.  Think.  Does something seem weird to you?”</p><p>I thought of that strange feeling I’d had looking at the Ninth cavalier.  “Ortus Nigenad.  He seems less of a cavalier than I am, and that’s saying something.”</p><p>She frowned.  “Ortus,” she repeated.  “I could have sworn...but no, of course he’s her cavalier.  I’d even looked it up before we left, so I’d know everyone’s names.”</p><p>“You would,” I said, a fond smile on my lips.</p><p>“Magnus!” Her voice was sharp and cracked through my head like a slap.  I looked up and saw the wall in front of us dissolve into snow, swirling flakes pulling apart and showing nothing but darkness behind.  </p><p>“I don’t understand,” I started…</p><p>...and then I woke up.</p>
<hr/><p>“Magnus,” said Abigail again, urgently, and then: “Oh, good, you’re with us.”</p><p>“I’m with you,” I repeated.  And then I looked around.  We were in the swimming pool room again.  “Well, that was a very odd dream.”</p><p>“And it was?”</p><p>I shook my head.  It was already fading.  “The Lyctor trials.  Canaan House.  We were getting our keys.”</p><p>“It wasn’t a dream,” said Dyas grimly.  “I was there, too.  Bad enough to do it once – I would just as soon not relive it all.”</p><p>“But was it exactly as you remembered?” asked Abigail.</p><p>“Judith seemed rather more subdued than usual.  But I wouldn’t put much stock in my own memory.”</p><p>“I thought it was fascinating,” breathed Dulcinea, then broke into a coughing fit.  “But then I wasn’t really there the first time.”</p><p>Ortus frowned.  “Nor was I.”</p><p>“But of course you were,” I said.  “You were cavalier to Harrowhark Nonagesimus.”  An odd duck, that one, but I didn’t say that part out loud.</p><p>“I – I don’t think so.” His brow furrowed with thought.  “We were in the shuttle, going to….”  He trailed off, looking confused again, then shrugged apologetically.  “I don’t remember.”</p><p>“Death does that,” said Abigail.  “Core personalities remain solid, which is why it’s so interesting to speak to the dead – at least, to the <em>interesting</em> dead.  But memories fade over time. Over time,” she repeated, looking thoughtful. “Odd that yours would be worse than mine and Dulcie’s.  Seeing as how we died first.” </p><p>“You’re still sharp as a tack, my love.”</p><p>The children, who were huddled together as usual, made a muffled squeak, then looked at us with wide eyes.</p><p>“Are we embarrassing you again?” I asked.  </p><p>They looked at each other, then back at us.  Finally Jeannemary shook her head. “You’ve both lost it.”</p><p>“Surely it can’t be as bad as all that.”</p><p>“He’s not her cav!” </p><p>“Don’t be silly,” I started, but Abigail put her hand on my arm, stopping me, and asked,  “Why do you say that?”</p><p>“He just <em>isn’t</em>.”</p><p>Isaac looked a bit less certain, but he nodded.  “We were the last to – to die, right?” His lip quivered a bit, and my heart ached anew for their fate. They were too young.  “So our memories should be the best.”</p><p>“I remember the Ninth cav,” said Jeannemary obstinately.  “It wasn’t him.”</p><p>“So who was it?” asked Abigail.</p><p>Jeannemary suddenly looked stricken.  “I don’t – I can’t remember.  But it wasn’t him.  Wrong biceps.”</p><p>“All right,” said Abigail soothingly.  “But Ortus, you said you remember being on the shuttle.  The Third brought two necromancers.”  She paused a moment as some thought struck her, then looked back at him.  “Did the Reverend Daughter bring two cavaliers, then? You and another?”</p><p>“That seems excessive,” said Protesilaus.  I couldn’t help but think of my earlier assessment of Ortus, that he seemed even more useless a cavalier than I; maybe it was prudence, rather than excess. </p><p>“He wasn’t the Ninth cavalier,” repeated Jeannemary.</p><p>Ortus gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t remember.”</p><p>“Maybe he didn’t get off the shuttle?” I asked.  </p><p>“The shuttles were sunk,” said Dyas.</p><p>“So that’s how he died, perhaps?”</p><p>“Is any of this important at all?”  Silas Octakiseron’s voice rang out across the room.  I hadn’t noticed his approach.  “Why are we here, if we are dead, and not in the River?”</p><p>“We’re trying to figure that out,” said Abigail, with a tartness I recognized.  It was the way she sounded when she had a problem in her sights and I made the mistake of barging into her study to ask what she wanted for dinner. </p><p>“I venture to say it must be Harrowhark’s doing,” said Ortus. His voice was tinged with more than a little awe. “She is the greatest necromancer of her generation, and a force that brooks no opposition.”</p><p>Octakiseron sniffed.  “Your loyalty is clearly stronger than your judgment.”</p><p>“I think we’re in a sort of – a sort of eddy.”  Abigail waved a hand in a vague spiral gesture.  “That is, the River flows downstream for the most part, but we are in a place where it curls back on itself, and so we revisit the past.”</p><p>“But how does it do that?” asked Dulcinea.  Her face was alight with interest.</p><p>“Harrowhark,” said Ortus gloomily.</p><p>“It’s not that I don’t respect your mistress’s abilities,” Abigail said.  “But the Ninth are bone-witches, and this seems a bit out of her purview.”</p><p>“HARROWHARK,” said Ortus again, and as before, the name resonated in my skull and everything...<em>shifted</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>This time when I revived Isaac gave out a little screech.  “You disappeared!”</p><p>“Just us?” asked Abigail.</p><p>Isaac jerked his head in the direction of Ortus Nigenad.  He’d been reciting epic poetry to Abigail and me, and as I looked over at him now it was hard for me to disbelieve that it had actually happened.  I remembered the stirring passages, the strident, martial tone.  It had seemed very grand and suited to the mysteries of the obscure Ninth House.  But he claimed to not have been there</p><p>“Hmm.” She looked lost in thought for a moment.  “The Reverend Daughter was there as well.  But I’m reluctant to attribute this to her.  To be honest it seems more like a Sixth House trick.”</p><p>“I noticed the distinct lack of Palamedes Sextus in our merry band,” said Dulcinea.  She sighed.  “A pity.  I was looking forward to meeting him in person.”</p><p>“Ugh,” said Jeannemary.</p><p>Isaac shrugged.  “Would have traded the Eighth for him.”</p><p>Abigail put a hand on Duchess Septimus’ wheelchair and looked up at her cavalier.  “Dulcie, can I talk with you for a moment in private?” </p><p>She nodded, and after a moment Protesilaus did, too, and Abigail wheeled her over to a corner where they discussed something in low enough voices that I couldn’t overhear, though not for lack of trying.  </p><p>When they came back, Abigail motioned to Marta Dyas, who came over.  “We need to find a better base than this room,” she said.  “The Seventh will keep an eye on things here.  You, Magnus and I will go exploring.  No,” she added to Isaac, who had just opened his mouth but not said anything yet, “I know you want to come with us, but I’d rather you didn’t.”</p><p>It really was a pity we hadn’t been able to have children.  She’d have been an excellent and terrifying mother.</p>
<hr/><p>The first door I tried, which I vaguely recalled had led to a changing-room and then to the exercise room where we cavaliers had sparred, opened onto yawning blackness.  I yelped as I slammed it shut.  “There’s nothing there,” I said, a bit embarrassed.  </p><p>“Nothing how?” asked Dyas.</p><p>“Nothing.  A void.”</p><p>“Interesting,” said Abigail, but that was all.  She pushed a drapery aside to reveal a short hallway with a black door at the end.  “Huh.”  The door was ridiculously overwrought, with black stone pillars on each side and across the top, decorated with what seemed to be animal images.  It looked far more intimidating than the far more ordinary door that I’d just slammed, but when I cautiously tried the knob lights clicked on in the space beyond, and I exhaled, relieved.</p><p>Behind the door was a well-lit sort of study, with notebook-covered laboratory tables in neat rows one one side, and a training floor with a sword rack on the other.  In the middle was an elevated platform reached by a short flight of steps. From what I could see from below it held fairly prosaic-looking furniture, beds and bookcases.</p><p>I held my rapier out before me and stepped in, looking around for threats.  There was nothing, so I sheathed it, feeling faintly silly. Abigail, who had followed me in, surveyed the room with satisfaction. “This will do nicely.” </p><p>“For what exactly, Lady Pent?” asked Dyas, who had taken up the rear.</p><p>She didn’t answer right away.  Instead she walked past me, looked around the room, then went up a few steps so she could see what was on the platform.  “Yes,” she said, “this will do.”  Then she turned back to us, her face serious and sad.  “Did you look in the pool?”</p><p>“Only when we first...arrived, or whatever you’d call it,” I said.  Dyas shook her head.</p><p>Abigail sat heavily on the step behind her.  “The water in the pool,” she said.  “It’s the River.  Maybe that’s why we corporated in that room, or maybe the room has some significance to – to whoever pulled us into this eddy.”</p><p>“Sextus, you think?” asked Dyas.</p><p>“I don’t know.  But it’s getting darker, bloodier.  More churned up with.…” She shuddered.  “So many souls in the River.  In the normal course of things the flow brings them to their proper destination.  But here we are, caught for the moment – and we must not be trapped.”</p><p>Her somber tone alarmed me.  “Trapped?” </p><p>“We don’t know how long this eddy will last.  Is it being created by a necromancer?  By one of us – by the Warden, or the Reverend Daughter?  Or by some other force?  No, I know, you are neither of you necromancers.” She looked me in the eye.  “But the children.  We cannot let them – their souls would be torn apart and lost, and that would be a terrible thing.  I must discover how to return them safely to the River.  And in the meantime, this will be a safer place to hole up.”</p><p>“Well, then,” I said, with deliberate heartiness.  “I’ll just take a look around, shall I?  See if we can make this a bit more homey.  The kids will be happy for a place where they can relax.”</p><p>“They won’t, you know,” said Abigail.  “They’ll resent both of us, and get all dark and sullen.  But we have to do it, if we can.”</p><p>I went over to the steps and knelt beside her, took her hands, kissed her cheek.  From the corner of my eye, I saw Dyas ostentatiously look away.</p><p>“If anyone can do it, love,” I said, “it will be you.”</p>
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